Teardrops of the Moon
by Hese Solstis
Summary: AU, Ichiruki! A loveless marriage didn't matter. To her, love was simply a fickle emotion that burdened her kind, their ultimate downfall. What she didn't expect, was for her to lose her heart and soul to the man she abhorred the most, Kurosaki Ichigo.
1. Prologue

Prologue

"_May your marriage last as long as the first stroke, may your line of descendants stretch as long as your second stroke, and may your happiness last as long as your marriage_."

XXXX

Those were the word spoken to every bride-to-be on their wedding eve.

Those were the words young girls await to be showered upon them, when they gaze upon their reflection in a mirror and see an old dame or some female relative that have enjoyed a long, blissful marriage combing through their silky strands with a comb in hand while echoing those infamous words loud and clear.

That night marks the young girl's last day as a daughter of her own household, in an attempt to push those thoughts away from her and to prevent her from making such a discovery, all her closest female relative would gather at her bedchamber that night and beguile her with those stories of their newfound happiness after their marriage.

Entrapped by their sweet words, the young girl would then await the day with much anticipation, swallowing every word, believing everything she was told.

The next morning she awakes, she would don on her lovely wedding gown, like a long waited butterfly that finally broke free from her cocoon, her transformation from a young innocent maiden to a beautiful bride was completed.

She was then sent off to the groom's, decked from head to toe in pure red to mark the festival as a happy and auspicious event.

It was anything but.

The moment she stepped inside her sedan, her fate was sealed. This is the last time she will be departing as a daughter of her household.

She returns as the wife of her husband, the daughter-in-law of her in-laws. She was considered as a pail of water that had been splashed on the floor, her existence forgotten and never mentioned again in the family's hall. When she dies, she will rest her soul as a member of her husband's household, her maternal family has dropped all claims on her that very night with those bitter-sweet departing words.

_May your marriage last as long as the first stroke, may your line of descendants stretch as long as your second stroke, and may your happiness last as long as your marriage._

XXXX

In those days when a marriage was arranged by parents, the girl was never allowed to look at her future husband.

Every detail of the marriage was based solely upon words and created artworks.

Lies were fabricated, images were created, and all these were done to fool the girl into giving her hand in marriage to a total stranger.

A stranger who could well be twice as old as the bride, or even as old as the bride's grandfather.

Even if the girl protested about the wedding, there was nothing more, she could do.

The girl was sent off into the unknown with no words of advices, unaware of their predicament with little more than those parting words that were passed from mother to daughter.

Only when they truly open their eyes to their situation, will they learn of the irony in their lives, their helplessness in the situation and the fact that they have been sold out by their own parents for political, economical and territorial gains.

Only then will they know the truth that was being withheld from them on their wedding eves, the secret that every married woman hid from their children's watchful gazes, that there is no true happiness for a woman in a marriage.

Although they play their parts as the happy, contented mistresses with grace to the outside eyes, it is a battlefield within.

The rules of the battlefield were simple; kill everyone else to ensure your own survival.

XXXX

In every household, there lays a constant inner turmoil raging between the ladies of the household as their struggle for power and dominance worsen.

The husband was often used as a platform to accomplish each other's deeds. He owes loyalty for no one, but who ever that captures his attention gains the upper hand and subsequently turns the battle to her own favours.

Once the young girls are married into the household, they are given a choice to either whine about their ill fate and await their death or adapt into the household, evolve and work their way up to become the Grand Mistress of the household, kowtowing to no one save her husband, the current head of her house.

Some try only to fail miserably, spending their last days in a nunnery or within the household walls never to see daylight again; others succeed in their task owing their success to five simple things in chronological order; money, deception, beauty, a son and perseverance.

In a grand household, woman exists only to serve their husband's needs.

His word was law; his displeasure was stemmed from her incompetence. To mark her arrival within the household, she must first garner support.

Having servants on her side, tips her scale considerably. She can use the money to bribe the servants and laden the elder wives with rich gifts. Hopefully, they would talk of her virtues and attract her husband's attentions.

However, money wasn't always a compulsory.

A poor girl with little dowry could still succeed if she plays her cards well. Since she comes from a poor family, most servants would probably see her as one of them and extend their protection and support to her.

Then, she deceives the entire household into thinking her as nothing more than a gentle, understanding, innocent sap. Her household is her whole world and it revolves solely around her husband and other occupants within.

Her husband's wives are her equal and are treated as sisters, their children is her children.

Without them, she is nothing.

Slowly and undetected, she plots to further her grip upon the man and the household, but at the same time manages to hide her true cunning self.

After all, she is nothing more than a breeding tool. She was expected to be understanding of her husband, tolerating his children though not born from her womb, to respect his other wives if present, and above all to ignore the other mistresses he keeps outside the household.

Like how a cow is expected to give birth to more cows after mating, she was expected to giving birth to male heirs to carry on the family's bloodline.

No one wants a smart woman any more than they want a smart cow.

Next, she uses her beauty to the best of her capabilities; to beguile her husband and use it to her own advantage.

However, beauty is short-lived; everything that is beautiful would still fade away some day. Therefore, she simply stalls time with her beauty, hoping that her hard works will pay off and she would be rewarded her winning ticket.

_A son._

XXXX

Giving birth to a male heir could bring upon a change in a woman's luck within the household and her status could be elevated.

Every single woman in the household will fight to the end just to ensure that their own sons have a better chance of succeeding as the family's new head after the current one dies.

It was the desire to be acknowledged by their husband, the jealousy of other wives, bitterness of being sold out by their parents and the unwillingness to spend their last days in a nunnery that further fueled their determination to kill off every other competitor within the household.

With that done, she waits for the right time to strike.

Some can wait for a total of 50 years, carefully bidding their time behind shadows. That is the ultimate winning move-perseverance.

A woman is considered the ultimate winner in this game of power struggle, once she is spared from the fate of going into a nunnery like the other wives when her husband dies.

XXXX

_But..._

what if her much-awaited baby boy becomes a baby girl?

What will happen then?

Most see that as the ultimate sign of losing.

They retreat into the shadows with their daughters in tow, breeding the same type of situation.

The daughter will then be married off to someone else for selfish reasons, and the cycle starts again, breeding more hatred and contempt as time drawls on.

Of course, there are those who willingly strangled their own child and pin the murder on other wives to further their grip; others exchanged their baby girls with other children. Along the way, they rose to power and eventually win.

You see them walking up those steps with a dignified pace, claiming the seat of power with a smile on their lips, as if they had never been happier.

If only you knew what that happy expression hides.

XXXX

After all that fighting, her senses have dulled and all this time she sustains her life on the single desire of not living her last days in the nunnery.

After managing to accomplish her goals, there was little left to look forward to in her life.

Looking back, she realizes that she and all the others were just fools caught in a stupid game, thinking at the back their mind that their salvation lies on that throne of power.

She no longer feels happiness, but she still tries to convince herself that that is the happiness she had been looking for all this time.

Her body tired and wary, her soul empty and hollow, she succumbs easily into the darkness within her.

Silently, she eases herself onto her mattress, awaiting death to make his visit, accepting her defeat soundlessly because she already lost miserably just like all the others.

The truth was that there is no winner in this game; they all lost something more than their innocence the day they decided to take part in this game of power struggle.

XXXX

They lost their will to survive.

The winner only prolongs her death, the losers sent off in nunneries; all of them victims of cruel fate.

In the end, they were all victims of their own illusions, victims of the throne of power.

Like birds in a cage, they try to find the exit knowing that there is none to begin with but still struggle in vain, blaming others for their mishaps and insecurities.

Finally, they shut their eyes and rest as eternal slumber claimed their bodies.

None of their stories of struggle were ever recorded or heard again, nor were their names mentioned in history books.

They were forgotten.

XXXX

That was why Kuchiki Rukia has long since rid herself of marrying into ordinary noble families.

In a world where a woman's fate is controlled by the male authoritative figure, she fought to have a say in her own life.

She strived to be different; she wanted to prove to the world the fact that a woman was equally capable as a man in terms of achievement.

She has no interest in following the footsteps of those who have lost themselves within the struggle for power of the household.

She wants her name to live on forever among men and women alike, to be acknowledged by historians because of her own accomplishments and not as a consort of a head of a noble family.

XXXX

"Rukia, as the only surviving pureblooded descendant of the Kuchiki family, do you accept the proposal?" came a concerned voice. Looking straight into the eyes of a nervous Kuchiki-Shiba Kukaaku and the ambassador who was on the verge of breakdown while kneeling before her, she coolly sips her green tea while giving them her much-awaited answer.

"Yes, I accept."

Visibly relaxed by her answer, the ambassador could barely contain his sigh of relief as he excused himself from the two Kuchiki ladies, mumbling something about spreading the news as soon as possible. Once the ambassador was out of sight, Kukaaku ungracefully plops herself on the nearest tattami mat.

An out-spoken, voluptuous woman who still retains much of her beauty after a quarter of century in marriage, she meets the gaze of her teenage daughter seated directly across her. Sighing, she wearingly shuts her eyes and rubs the unseen lines on her forehead.

"Rukia, is this really what you want? Think carefully, this is marriage, we are talking about. There is no turning back. Heck, why would you even consider the idea of marrying that monster!"

A stark contrast to her mother, Rukia sets her petite figure gracefully on the mat, showing no signs of distress. Her large amethyst eyes focused solely on her mother.

"Okaa-sama, what makes you think that I undermine the gravity of such a situation? Do you think that because I was not close to Otou-sama, that I don't feel for his death and all the other male heirs who perished in the war? Do you think that because of our age difference, I care less of my clansmen and citizens? We all have to do our part in salvaging what's left of our nation. Mine is to reattach broken ties and lead my people to peace. I would do everything and anything within my power to complete my duty, even if it means marrying the … enemy."

"Besides, what could you do once I disagree? You said it yourself that man is a monster. Be thankful he even tried to be civilized and avoid unneeded blood shed. We have already depleted our resources during the battle; do we have to risk our people too?"

Bundling her small fist, she brought them down hard onto the delicate tea table, upsetting it, causing the glassware to shatter upon contact with the solid wood floor. Cursing at her own actions, she hastily stands up to collect the broken fragments.

Kneeling on the floor, she managed to stack the fallen bits only to knock them down once again when she wasn't looking. Bits of blood specks formed from her fingers where she was cut by the sharp edges, fell on her otherwise neat kimono.

Tears were forming in her eyes, and it was getting harder by the minute to control them.

Leaving her comfortable mat, Kukaaku tries to help her. Reaching towards the shattered pieces, she stopped when she heard Rukia's cold and commanding tone.

"Don't bother. Stop dirtying your hands and just leave me be."

Kukaaku straightens herself up and exited through the sliding doors without another word but her heart was shattered much like the glassware on the floor, for forcing this situation on her beloved daughter.

Clenching her fist hard, she let a lone tear slide down her cheek as she exited.

XXXX

Once Rukia was sure she was alone by herself, she lets her mask slip. Slowly, standing up from her previous kneeling position, she smooths away the wrinkles on her kimono and allows a small smirk to grace her lips.

Sure, she feels bad for hurting the woman who took her under her wings when her birth mother, Hisana died. But then again, sacrifices were always expected when accomplishing great deeds.

This unfortunately, was one of those sacrifices.

The scene just now was loud and unrefined, but necessary for her in many ways.

To accomplish her goals of proving the male population wrong for underestimating her sex, she must first garner support and sympathies from her own people.

Let them see her tears and sobs; she wants them to think of her as nothing more than a martyr who was willing to sacrifice her happiness for the sake of them.

Once they are convinced of her pure intentions, they will definitely pledge their allegiance to her. And when the time comes, she will make use of their loyalty. If they die, well she shrugged; they knew the risk themselves and joined of their own accord.

Why blame her for their own blind faith?

She really could not care less about the monster she is marrying in a month's time. She has no interest on what he does and how does he look like, for now she simply wants to use her marriage to the notorious Ryoka of Seireitei and so-called Shinigami- Kurosaki Ichigo as a stepping stone for herself.

* * *

Author's note:

My first fan-fic just got published! Yay! Like it, hate it? Hit the review button.


	2. Chapter 1: Echoes of the Past

Chapter 1: Echoes of the Past

Inhuman cries of pain echoed throughout the empty desert, shattering its calm peace. Slowly sliding his dark blade from his last victim's abdomen, he watched as the body fell limply onto the battlefield, with surprise still etched on his face, as if he still could not believe that he, along with his fallen comrade, were all dead.

All of them delivered into the world of eternal slumber by none other than the Ryoka of Seireitei, Kurosaki Ichigo.

Pushing the tip of his sword into the shifting sand beneath him, he wrapped both of his hands around the hilt tightly before allowing himself to rest his body's additional weight onto the sword.

On this particular night, dark clouds surrounded the moon, encasing her within armor and effectively dimmed her bright rays. This coupled with his excessive loss of blood, made the scene before him to appear hazy and surreal. Panting of exhaustion, he wearingly shook his head, refusing to yield to his fate.

He made a promise to his mother on her deathbed; he will not die on the battlefield.

He will die of old age in his own abode, surrounded by friends and relatives alike.

And as a Kurosaki, he must always honour his promises, especially to his deceased loved ones.

_This is not your time to die, Ichigo. Focus._

Hardening his resolve, he tried to make out the bleary scenes before his very eyes, but to no avail. With every passing moment, he was losing more of his vision. Exhaustion and fatigue was catching up fast. Unknowingly, he was already down on his knees. On the verge of collapse, he clung onto his sword like a lifeline.

_Don't faint on me, you hear. You're Kurosaki Ichigo, Ryoka of Seireitei. You're stronger than this. Hang in there._

A sudden movement to his right caught his interest. Concentrating on whatever vision he was left with, he could remotely make out the shape of a human wearing white kimono. He suppressed a bitter chuckle.

Was this the end for him? Was Kami-sama sending him a Shinigami to accompany him into the realm of dead?

_No, I will not die. It doesn't matter whether it's a human or a Shinigami. I'll just have to kill all of them._

XXXX

Gripping his sword with a deathlike grip, he pushed himself up into a standing position. He winced at the injuries he received, but still managed to pull his body together into a fighting stance.

Ignoring his body's protest, he abruptly turned his entire body towards the new comer who was inching towards him. As quick as a flash, he pulled out his sword, its dark blade gleaming with the prospect of fighting a worthy opponent.

Pointing the sword maliciously at the new comer's throat, his usual molten orbs of amber turned into specks of golden yellow. Finding it difficult of raise his head up, he simply looked at the ground while addressing the newcomer.

He said in an emotionless voice, "take one step closer, and I will kill you. I don't care whether you're dead or alive. Even if you are a woman or a child, I will not hesitate to strike. Did Aizen sent you here to fight me?"

The stranger took another step forward. Without warning, Ichigo struck. His blade sank itself deep within the stranger's throat. Staring at the sand, he could see blood specks forming on the sand. He frowned at the lack of resistance when he sank in the blade.

Intrigued, he painfully raised his gaze upwards, only to have his eyes widen in confusion as he saw the crumpled form of a woman lying in her own pool of blood. A woman he loved and cherished, a woman who taught him how to love, a woman who shared his same pair of amber orbs, a woman he made a promise to on her deathbed.

XXXX

"Kaa-chan," he noted in disbelief, as he saw her lying down on her back. Her eyes were wide open and accusing, her auburn hair and her previously white kimono were all tainted with dark, oozing blood pouring out from her throat.

He dropped his sword and kneeled down to her immobile form on the sand. Desperately trying to atone for his sin, he grasped her hand in his own, mumbling incoherent sentences of forgiveness. Streaks of tear slid down his cheeks, but his mother still remained impassive to his actions.

"I'm sorry, kaa-chan. I really didn't mean to do it. I thought you were… someone else. Please, forgive me. I beg you," he murmured while pressing kisses onto her left hand.

Suddenly, he felt a strong slap on his left cheek. His cheek stung and he lifted his left hand to his cheek, somewhat dumbfounded by what that had just occurred. Feeling a strong grip on his right hand, he saw his mother's right hand extending outwards.

"Look at me," came his mother's cold voice. He obeyed as he redirected his gaze onto his mother's face.

From her cut throat, he could see a fine amount of blood still oozing out but the rest had dried, her mouth that used to sing him soothing nursery rhymes as he drifted off to sleep was pressed into a thin line, and her eyes, her kind and warm butterscotch orbs were reflecting so much hatred, pain and disgust.

All of these terrible feelings directed towards him. He loathed himself.

Staring accusingly at him, she spat at him.

"This is all your fault, Ichigo. I will never forgive you."

* * *

_"Kurosaki, wake up! Wake up, you lazy excuse of a commander!"_

XXXX

Feeling a sharp pain on his head, he instantly jerked awake. A light sheen of sweat covered his body. His eyes were wild and searching. Panting, he could feel his heart thumping madly against his ribcage. Propping himself up into a sitting position, he hissed in pain. Some of the injuries that he received during the duel with his deceased future father-in-law still had not recovered.

Seeing the familiar scrolls of battle reports and maps littered around him, he was relieved to know that he was simply dreaming just now.

No more dead bodies, Aizen or unpredictable weather conditions in the middle of Hueco Mundo. Instead, he was here in his study room in Eastern Seireitei, tucked in warm winter clothes and sitting behind his sturdy workbench, hearing the warm cackling of fire in the background while examining the various battle reports flooding in from the rest of Seireitei. For now, Kurosaki Ichigo is alive and well.

Death can wait another day.

Slowly, he eased himself up from his oak wooden chair and placed his hand wearily on his sore neck. Twisting his head to his sides, he attempted to sooth the aching knots on his neck. He chided himself for sleeping in a sitting position that ended up aggregating his other injuries. _Stupid pain. Crazy dream. I need sake._

"What do you want, Ishida?" asked Ichigo with more force than necessary.

Irritated, he gruffly addressed the raven-haired bespectacled man standing in front him.

Under normal circumstances, he would have addressed his brilliant tactician more politely. After all, this was the man who helped him conquered most part of Northern and Western Seireitei. It was under his guidance that he managed to have such a successful military campaign.

Unfortunately, Ichigo was still badly shaken after that particular nightmare. Ishida Uryu just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.

"You mean other than to escort you to the banquet under your father's order, nothing really," said Uryu monotonously. After spending more than a decade by his side, Uryu could read his commander's mood better than anyone else could.

Judging by his haggard expressions and his painful moaning just now, Uryu could see that his commander just had a nightmare. _It is best to just leave him be until he calms himself down, _he thought.

Despite his fierce reputation on the battlefield, Uryu knew more than anyone else that Ichigo's dreams are constantly haunted by nightmares, and he sees the nightmares as his ultimate weakness. A proud man like him would rather die than share his weakness, so he puts on a mask of indifference and a barrier between his heart and the outside world.

To Ichigo, acting gruff and rude, especially after nightmares is simply one of his defenses to protect himself.

To show the world, that he was fine on his own and that he was strong.

_Kurosaki Ichigo, you're the biggest idiot in the world._

XXXX

"Che, who in the right mind would go to that banquet? Knowing old goat-chin, he probably brought along a sea of sake and all the courtesans in Seireitei. As soon as I show my face, he'll start the whole lecture about the importance of giving him grandchildren and crap. I am not in a mood to deal with him."

"Well considering you're his only son, I really don't think that he went overboard this time. Isn't it normal to have fathers throwing a banquet for their sons on the eve before his marriage?"

Ichigo snorted, "Normal? Oh please, Uryu. You've spent fourteen years in the same household as him, and have you ever once known him to act normal or serious."

"Well there was the time when…when...."

Ichigo's right. Raking through his memory, he couldn't even think of a single incident that portrayed Kurosaki Isshin as a serious, responsible adult. In fact, Ichigo and he always had to bail him out of tight situations. Adjusting his spectacles, he grudgingly nodded his head in agreement. "Good point."

"Glad you see it my way." Shivering slightly, Ichigo glared at the passing snowflakes and cursed at the early winter this year.

"Stupid winter. The heavy snowfall had been nothing but a nuisance to our military campaigns. At this rate, we'll have to wait until next year before we could cross Hueco Mundo and claiming Southern Seireitei. If only the damn fools will hurry up and finish the bridge in time."

"Ichigo, Western Seireitei is facing a famine. If we continue your _foolish_ attempts for constructing a bridge that would link us to Hueco Mundo of Southern Seireitei, there will be a good chance of us having to face both Aizen's army and the uprising of old nobles in Western Seireitei by _next month_. Why not take this time to let the men have some rest, by early spring we will have no problem with our manpower supply. Lure Aizen into a false sense of security and we strike when we're prepared. Besides, we need to have the Kuchikis' on our side. They're without doubt the best experts at fighting desert skirmishes after all. Take this opportunity to earn their trust."

Pausing momentarily for breath, Uryu continued in a clipped tone.

"Besides, Orihime wants you to taste her new frozen mustard with cranberry. You can't taste it if you're five hundred miles away, and if you can't taste it, Orihime would be very disappointed. As her husband, I would do everything within my power to make her happy. That includes abandoning my post as tactician, just to stall you long enough to remain here throughout the entire winter."

Ichigo chuckled.

"Is that true? The great Ishida Uryu would willingly abandon his commander and best friend just because his wife told him to keep his commander long enough to taste her new recipe. Somehow I find that hard to believe."

"Why not? Isn't it quite normal to do that for someone you love? You're getting married tomorrow. You will have someone to confide your secrets and weaknesses with, who will stand by your side no matter what the situation is."

Suppressing a snort at his friend's naïve outlook of marriage, Ichigo continued. "Uryu, you are without doubt one of best military tacticians of all time, a precious asset to my army, but please spare me your love advices. I'll take your advice to postpone the attack on Southern Seireitei, we will strike five months later. Meanwhile, take another two thousand men to work on that bridge."

Perplexed, Uryu asked, "Two thousand men? But I thought you agreed to my advice. Why take another two thousand men? The condition at the edge of the lake is getting worse. At this rate, most of them will freeze to death in the blizzard."

"Because my dear Uryu, you said it yourself, we have to lure Aizen into a false sense of security. Let him think that we're desperate to cross over to Hueco Mundo for now. Aizen is a sly fox and to catch a sly fox, you have to set a cunning trap. Compared to the unification of Seireitei, those two thousand soldiers mean nothing."

Uryu's eyes widened in disbelief, is the man standing opposite him really the same Kurosaki Ichigo who spent his childhood with him and who swore to uphold truth and justice no matter what happens, and to change the tyrant ways of the old Seireitei Kingdom.

XXXX

_Ichigo_, _you've changed. You're no longer the child who challenged the authority of other kingdoms, just to make sure that its people have a better future. This is now the Ryoka of Seireitei and Shinigami talking, driven by the insane need of revenge. _

_I hardly recognize you anymore. You have really become a monster. _

_However, if fate really wants me to help you unify Seireitei. _

_Then so be it..._

XXXX_  
_

"Uryu," Ichigo said suddenly, startling him from his train of thought. Scrutinizing Uryu from his neatly trimmed black hair to the soles of his white boots, "You look like you're deep in thought over something. You haven't heard a word I said, have you? " Ichigo commented.

"Sorry, what were you saying just now?" asked Uryu who jumped back in surprise when he noticed that Ichigo's face was merely inches away from him.

"I said let's go get some sake," Ichigo replied.

"Sake?"

"Yes, Uryu. Sake," replied Ichigo rolling his eyes dramatically. "You know, alcoholic beverage made from rice. Rangiku's favourite drink. Geez, for a self-proclaimed genius strategist, you sure are dumb."

Insulted, Uryu narrowed his eyes before answering Ichigo in an exasperated tone. "I know what sake means, you idiot. What I mean is how do you get sake? Didn't you say your dad brought along a sea of sake to the banquet? I thought you didn't want to go to the banquet, and-"

He continued after glancing at the several used bottles of sake littered around carelessly on Ichigo's workbench. "Don't you think you had enough already? You do remember you're getting married to the Western Seireitei princess tomorrow, right?"

Unperturbed, Ichigo answered with an equally annoyed tone. "Uryu, there's always more than one way to get sake. Besides, me getting married tomorrow makes it a memorable occasion. All the more reason to get drunk, Uryu. I don't want to face a disgusted bride while I'm somber."

"How can you guarantee she'll be disgusted? For starters, you haven't even met her yet, maybe you're one of those cliché love-at-first-sight cases."

Whirling around, Ichigo looked at Uryu suspiciously as if he had suddenly grown another head before bursting into full-blown laughter.

"God, Uryu. You've been spending too much time with Orihime. Do you seriously think I'm one of _those_ type of people? Besides, why wouldn't she be disgusted? She's getting married to the very person who murdered her father."

Sighing, Ichigo raised his head heavenward, glaring softly at the moon maiden before continuing in a somewhat bitter tone.

"Make no mistake, Uryu. When old goat-chin married my mother, that was for love, when you married my cousin Orihime, that was for love; when I marry Kuchiki Rukia of Western Seireitei, it's for political and financial reasons. It's a marriage of convenience, a loveless marriage."

With that, Ichigo slipped on his white haori and exited the room, leaving Uryu all alone in the study room with the fire still cackling warmly in the background. Uryu made no indication of following Ichigo. Instead, he slowly walked towards the window opening. A frozen wonderland greeted him.

Somehow standing here glancing upwards at the beautiful crescent moon, made a sudden surge of unexplainable emotions coursed through his being.

Maybe it was the frozen landscape that triggered his reaction, maybe it was his ancestral Quincy bloodline calling for him, maybe he was spending too much time around his wife, but he knew one thing was for sure.

XXXX

"Kurosaki Ichigo, you're going to eat your words."

* * *

Tossing around on her futon, Kuchiki Rukia shut her eyes once again, hoping for slumber to take over soon, but to no avail. With a low growl of frustration, she angrily kicked off her blanket, causing it to land harmlessly a few centimeters away from her.

Getting up from her futon, she made no move to retrieve her blanket. Instead, she paced towards the wooden shutters. With a slight push, both halves of the shutters departed, allowing the cold winter wind and some snowflakes entry to the room.

From whence she stood, a blanket of white had covered every inch of the valley. From afar, buildings could no longer be differentiated apart from trees, save for the small consistent glow of light coming from within. Lakes and ponds were frozen overnight. All of them gleaming like brightly polished mirrors in the moonlight. _So beautiful_, she thought.

Words could not describe her love for winter. A ghost of a smile finally made its way back onto her face after a months' absence. Rubbing her temple wearingly, she sighed. Last month had been particularly difficult for her. Saying goodbye to her old mansion in Rukongai, Western Seireitei had been harder than she thought and the bumpy month long journey from Western Seireitei to Karakura, the capital of Eastern Seireitei had been everything but comforting.

"Rukia, why aren't you asleep yet?"

Whirling around in surprise, Rukia saw a yawning Kukaaku towering around her while rubbing her eyes. Her left hand was wrapped possessively around a sake bottle, on her right she was carrying a strange-looking bundle.

Judging by her rosy complexion, the slight slur in her voice and the bottle in her hand, she must have been out drinking. Rukia let out a sigh. She should have known a sake lover like Kukaaku would never let the golden opportunity of tasting Eastern Seireitei's famous sake go to waste.

Swaying slightly on her feet, Kukaaku leaned her back against the wall to Rukia's right. Peeking lazily through her left eye, she crumpled down onto the floor in a heap.

"You know Byakuya really loved your mother," said Kukaaku before drinking another gulp of sake. Nestling closer to the wall, she sat Indian-style on the hard wood flooring.

Rukia's eyebrows shot up immediately. Whatever possessed her okaa-sama to start sprouting off such nonsense? She shook her head. _Okaa-sama must have been drunker had I thought._

Shutting the window behind her soundlessly, Rukia seated herself directly in front of Kukaaku. She gently tried to wrestle the bottle away from her mother's death-like grip.

"Come on, okaa-sama. Give me the bottle. You've had too much tonight. You wouldn't want to wake up tomorrow morning with a terrible hangover now, would you? You still have a month-long journey before you return back to Rukongai. Didn't you say you want to go home as soon as possible? A headache could slow you down." she cooed.

She smiled as she found the grip loosening itself; her sweet talk was working.

Just a few more tugs, before she can snatch away the bottle. But before she could do anything else, Kukaaku had annoyingly rolled away from her again with the bottle still clutched in her left hand. Rukia cursed at that point. She swore her okaa-sama could be so immature sometimes.

Composing herself, she extended her left hand towards her mother's in a friendly gesture. Only to have it swatted away flippantly.

Undeterred, she tried her sweet approach a few more times before her patience ran thin.

By her fifteenth attempt, she was already lunging towards her mother in frustration.

After several failed attempts at snatching the bottle away from her okaa-sama's grip, she finally admitted defeat. Sulking, she glared at Kukaaku who promptly burst in fits of giggle. Rukia inwardly cringed, until now she had never heard, much less seen her okaa-sama giggled like a little girl. It was disturbing to say the least.

Patting to the solid wooden flooring beside her, Kukaaku motioned for Rukia to take the seat. Noticing Rukia was still glaring suspiciously at her; she sighed and said in her usual confident tone.

"Rukia, just take the seat. Contrary to what you may think, I am not drunk. Far from it, in fact. I think I can _hic-_ still take a few more _hic-_shots of sake before I'm really _hic-_ drunk." She emphasized her point by taking another good gulp of sake from the bottle before setting it down to her left with an intoxicated smile on her lips.

Obeying her okaa-sama's instructions, she kneeled down beside her okaa-sama, a stark contrast against her mother's simple plop. Sitting down, Kukaaku handed her the sake bottle she had been wrestling for hours. Accepting the bottle from her mother, she noted that there was still half a bottle of unconsumed alcohol within.

Shaking the contents within, she smirked before unscrewing the cap and taking a good gulp of the liquid herself.

She regretted her decision the instant the scorching liquid entered her throat. She winced at the burning sensation she felt, but managed to force down the uncomfortable liquid into her throat without doubling over to cough.

She was never touching sake ever again.

"Okaa-sama, you are one strange person. When I wanted the sake bottle from you, you wouldn't give me. Now when I've just about given up, you give it to me without a fight," commented Rukia in a bewildered tone.

Laughing, Kukaaku snatched away the bottle from Rukia. Twirling the fragile bottle absentmindedly, she continued, "Most things in life usually happen that way. Unexpected things, miracles happen when you least expect them. Just like how your Byakuya wasn't really expecting love when he stumbled upon your mother."

Giving an unladylike snort, Rukia proceeded to eye her mother warily.

If she had a list of most avoided topics, her otou-sama would always be on top of it. Kuchiki Byakuya, she learnt from a very young age, was a complex figure with a subtle way of expressing his like and dislikes. His men and the soldiers claimed him as their proud leader who led them to victory, excluding the recent one where he perished, artisans used him as an inspiration, and her mother saw him as a devoted husband.

She saw him as a murderer of everything she once held within her grasp and the reason why she now held a cynical outlook at her world.

During her childhood, she saw little of him.

During her mother's funeral, she saw none of him.

During his funeral, she never showed up.

Years of silence and separation had estranged their father-daughter relationship.

She never did shed a single tear for him, nor did she ever acknowledge him. Rukia did not regret that, after all she couldn't very well cry for someone she never loved and in return, never loved her.

She felt angry with Kukaaku who suddenly brought up this uncomfortable topic. Folding her palms neatly on her lap, she fought hard to reign in her anger and to prevent a sudden outburst in front of her okaa-sama.

She owed her at least that much after using her emotions for her selfish means.

She enquired in a whisper.

"Why the sudden urge to mention this, okaa-sama? Why bring the dead into a conversation, when we all know there is nothing we can do or change that fact. In the end, we'll only find ourselves entrapped by our fond memories in the past. Like two sides of a mirror, we want to reach out and escape into reality, but as long as we continue to reminisce on our past, we'll always be stuck on the other side, the surreal side. It's better to forget."

Ignoring her, Kukaaku took another gulp of sake before continuing her conversation. With a shut of her eyes, she drew in a sharp intake of breath before opening her mouth.

"I married Byakuya when I was sixteen." said Kukaaku.

Alarmed by her okaa-sama's sudden confession, Rukia shifted in her seat, words were forming at the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed them back. Instead, she calmly took Kukaaku's unoccupied arm and placed it with her own on her lap.

She gave a nod to Kukaaku, whose expression was unreadable in the dark room.

"My father needed an heir to continue the Shiba bloodline. We, me and my half-brother Ganju, were his only children. Ganju was deemed unsuitable to lead the clan and me, I was a woman. Have you ever heard of a woman leading a clan?"

Kukaaku inserted a hollow laugh, while Rukia tightened the hold around her okaa-sama's hand. In the end, even a strong woman like Kukaaku was a victim to sexual prejudice in her time. Rukia strengthened her resolves.

_Soon, okaa-sama, that's going to change soon. I promise you. _

XXXX

"Since the Shiba have been the loyal vassals of the Kuchiki for centuries, my father was very eager to arrange a marriage between me and the young head of the family. With this marriage, the two houses will be united. Also, the young and inexperienced head needed a powerful force to back him up and fortify his position. I wanted no part in this, I wanted to travel, to become the world's greatest fireworks master. My father denied me my dreams."

Sighing, Rukia asked, "Then why didn't you run away or escape? Knowing you, okaa-sama. You would rather face an uncertain future than to sucuumb to their demands."

Kukaaku answered in a nonchalant tone, "Believe me, I've tried, more than once in fact. My father was at his wit's end when my mother came forward and gave me the slap of my life. She told me, that I was lucky I was marrying into such a prominent family, that I was being a disgrace to the family name by acting so childishly. The next day, I was married to Byakuya. Two more years later, I gave birth to the heir, Kaien. Byakuya released me from my duties. After that, we were couples in name only. Kaien was going to be raised by the Kuchiki Elders. I was living in the old Shiba mansion with Ganju and given permission to further my passion for fireworks. Byakuya was away on military expeditions. We rarely saw each other. Five years later, he married Hisana-chan. I was there during the wedding. He never knew, but he was smiling, I saw him smile, when he lifted the veil and slipped the band onto her finger. A few years later, you were born. Another ten years later, Hisana-chan died. You were left in my care."

Rukia remained silent; Otous-sama who was said to be devoid of emotions was smiling when he married okaa-chan? Okaa-sama didn't marry otou-sama out of love? The Kuchiki Elders lied to her! Just have much secret was kept from her knowledge?

"Don't be surprised, Rukia. There's a lot of things those snarky old rats hide from us? For once, I actually feel happy that they're all dead. Good riddance," slurred Kukaaku who was still holding Rukia's hand.

"You don't mean that, okaa-sama. That would be very disrespectful to the dead," exclaimed Rukia.

"No," announced Kukaaku childishly while making a show of stomping her foot.

"Those rats really deserved it. They did many disrespectful things when they're alive. It's retribution to their past sins. When Hisana-chan and your stillborn brother died, they should have buried them within the Kuchiki graveyard, instead of being incinerated, without the knowledge of both me and Byakuya."

"You know what I think, Rukia? I think Byakuya placed a curse upon them that day," whispered Kukaaku conspiratorially into Rukia's ear.

Rukia dismissed it with a wave of her hand.

"Okaa-sama, be serious. Otou-sama would never curse at the very persons he was taught to respect and obey. Otou-sama hardly showed up for okaa-chan's funeral. Not much people came anyway, just the servants and some of her old friends from Kochochi."

Kukaaku frowned slightly at Rukia before replying.

"You don't know him that well, did you Rukia? Kuchiki Byakuya is a cold and aloof man, but when he loves, he loves with all his heart. When he married Hisana-chan, honour, prestige, status, money; none of it mattered. He loves her. He would have done everything in his power to make her happy."

Rukia sneered.

"Okaa-chan is dead, okaa-sama. Your grammar is at fault, you should say he _loved_ my okaa-chan. But if he did love her, then he wouldn't have pestered her to have the son he and the rest of the family were awaiting so desperately for now, would he? As if having Kaien-dono wasn't enough, they just had to force another son out of her womb, when she was already so frail herself."

Kukaaku simply shook her head, unwilling to argue with her daughter. She continued.

"No, my grammar is perfect. He _loves_ her because he still loves her after she was gone. For Byakuya, true love lasts forever. The day she died, was the day when his soul died. He didn't attend her funeral because her body wasn't there. When the rest of you were crying in front of an empty coffin, he was by the riverside, scattering her ashes. He was grieving so much inside."

A lone tear streaked down Kukaaku's cheek as she said that. Flustered by her tears, she wiped them away with the back of her hand. Continuing in a choked manner, she rasped, "He was such a sentimental fool. When the old rats tried to burn everything Hisana-chan left behind, he fought to keep them. I guess one of his biggest regrets was being unable to save her crimson wedding dress from the fire. Hisana-chan wanted to pass the gown to you."

Fighting hard to keep her tears back, she faked a grin to cheer Kukaaku up.

"Okaa-sama, what done is done. Okaa-chan is dead. So what if I can't wear her wedding dress, I still have you here with me. Even if we never see each other again, I will think of you. Okaa-chan dying was hard, but having you as okaa-sama is already enough."

"No, Rukia, it's never enough," said Kukaaku whose tears were streaming down her cheek like waterfall. Nimbly, she grabbed the bundle that she discarded earlier on when she entered the room. She unwrapped it careful, as if she was afraid of damaging the contents within.

Once the final knot was untied, Kukaaku placed the bundle softly into her awaited arms.

With a grasp, Rukia's tears sprang free, as she realized what she held within the bundle was the white silk kimono her mother had on when she died. Taking the clothes out of the bundle, she traced her fingers lovingly across the stitched golden patterns and fingered the silky garment. She could still smell the faint scent of fresh rain and sakura from the kimono. She never thought she would see it again.

Clearing her throat, Kukaaku explained to her.

"I found this in Byakuya's wardrobe. The servants told me that Byakuya wanted to give it to you on your wedding eve, but that was before…before he died. I want you to wear it tomorrow."

Rukia was puzzled.

"Okaa-sama, this is a funeral kimono. I am supposed to wear a red wedding gown tomorrow. No one would tolerate a white garment during a wedding procession."

Giving Rukia a wink, Kukaaku smiled endearingly at her before continuing.

"That's the beauty of it. Think of the white kimono as the Kuchikis' last act of defiance, along with _Sode no Shirayuki_."

Rukia was speechless. Lifting the blade upwards, and feeling the sheer weight of the blade in her hands, she was honoured to say the least. Different from her twin _Senbonzakura_, _Shirayuki_ was a pure white blade, though equally elegant, she was never passed down to the head of Kuchiki, instead they kept her in the ancestral family home, a token and testament to their long and ancient lineage.

"Are you sure, okaa-sama?"

"Of course, I am. With _Senbonzakura _broken, _Shirayuki_ alone remains. She mourns for the lost of her twin deeply, you're the only person I know well enough to entrust her to. She is a part of your dowry, but that aside, I want you to follow your heart," said Kukaaku.

"Follow my heart?"

"Yes, follow it to where it leads you. I want you to have a chance to live your dream, instead of ending up in a loveless marriage like me. Don't feel obligated to carry out this marriage as if you owe the clan, sometimes a girl is entitled to certain acts of defiance. If Hisana-chan was alive, she would agree with me as well," finished Kukaaku.

Standing up on her feet, she wrapped her arms around her newly acquired treasures fondly before placing down directly beside her futon. Bowing deeply to Kukaaku, she flashed a genuine grin at her before grabbing the fallen blanket and drifting into slumber land.

Watching the sleeping form of her daughter curled up in her futon, Kukaaku held the bottle firmly against her lips. She took in gulp after gulps of sake, draining the whole bottle within seconds.

On the eve before Kuchiki Rukia's wedding, she drank herself into oblivion.

* * *

By the time she woke up the next morning, sprays of sunlight have already entered the room. Wincing at the strong sunlight, she turned her gaze towards the already empty futon beside her.

Kukaaku cursed. She should have known Rukia would pull such a trick. Angrily, she rushed out of her room. Rushing along the corridors, she bumped into several people, but she didn't care. She urged her legs to go faster, to catch up with Rukia.

XXXX

_Byakuya, Hisana, if you can hear my plea, please make sure Rukia hasn't left yet. I didn't have a chance to say goodbye to her. Please, I beg you. Just let me see her one last time. _

She arrived at the base of the stairs in huffs and pants. Frantically, she combed through the various guests present in the inn, searching for the guards that were placed for security reasons. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw a group of them joking around in a corner. In less than two strides, she approached them. Grabbing the nearest soldier she saw by the shoulders, she shook him aggressively while yelling on top of her voice.

"Where is Rukia?" yelled Kukaaku.

XXXX

The startled soldier was still in a daze. Angered, she dropped him to the ground before turning her attention towards the other soldier. "Where is Princess Rukia?" she demanded in a threatening voice.

"S-she lef-t se-sever-ral ho-hours ago," stuttered the soldier. Almost instantly, Kukaaku loosened her hold on the man's collar. Sinking onto the ground, she no longer cared what was happening around her. She no longer minded the rude whispering and stares that were directed towards her. Sinking to the ground, she simply hugged her knees and sobbed.

_I failed her, I was a failure as a mother. I didn't have a chance to say goodbye to my own daughter. I will never see her again._

XXXX

"Kuchiki-sama, Rukia-sama asked me to give this to you."

Feeling a nudge, she raised her head to see who was calling her. In front of her stood a young boy, no older than ten.

Fidgeting nervously, he was extending a piece of paper towards her. She recognized him as one of the stable boys. He was also a part of the entourage when they journeyed from Western Seireitei to Karakura.

Sniffing and wiping away her stray tears, she eyed the paper held in his hand disdainfully before snatching it away and dismissing him with a wave. The boy was only too eager to comply.

Unfolding the paper, her eyes stared long and hard at the characters on the paper.

_I am following my heart, okaa-sama._

_

* * *

_

In the Kurosaki compound, the wedding of the century was taking place.

The bride however was decked from head to toe in white, while the guests were grumbling about the inappropriateness of the colour. The groom simply snickered, whistling for the attention of his best man standing a few feet from him. The bespectacled man rolled his eyes in exasperation.

In a simple maneuver, the groom shrugged off his original crimson robe, revealing the inky dark robe he had underneath.

Taking the bride's cool and soft hand into his own callous one, he led her towards the altar.

He couldn't see her face through the white veil, nor could she. Vows were exchanged, blessings were given. Gently, he pried off the white silken veil, exposing the beautiful face of his bride to the hungry gaze of his guests.

As the whole room of guests started giggling about how attractive both of them looked, and how prosperous their future would be, the bride and the groom were the only ones with unreadable expressions on their faces.

No smiles, no tears.

To them, the guests' chattering and claps of applause were just echoes of the wind. Blurry and meaningless.

With identical bands of metal wrapped tightly around their ring finger, they see themselves as two individuals who have entered a sealed contract. The ring was not a love symbol, but the final seal of the supposed contract.

_Let the game begin…_

_

* * *

_

Author's Note:

Teardrops of the Moon's first chapter! Firstly, I want to extend my apologizes towards all my fellow readers, if the story didn't live up to your expectations. Also, some characters are portrayed extremely OOC. Next, some of the wedding scenes and other practices you see here have been modified to fit my story better.

Now, give a warm round of applause to my reviewers (you know who you are)! Thank you for your support and review!

Side Note: I don't know whether I should continue on the 1st chapter of Cycle or continue with Teardrops… Also, how was my one-shot? I am somewhat itching to do another one…


	3. Chapter 2: Interventions of a Fool

Chapter 2: Interventions of a Fool

In Seireitei, putting a deceased female's portrait in the family compound was unheard of.

Be it a single portrait or a family portrait, as soon as she passed on, every form of artwork that even remotely represented her in any way had to be cast away, to be buried along with her decomposing corpse as a sign for her to take her leave, to no longer linger in her in-laws' compound or trouble her relatives both physically and spiritually.

Kurosaki Masaki was the only exception to that case.

After her untimely demise, her own husband, the then head of the Kurosaki Clan, Kurosaki Isshin fought and argued vehemently with the family elders to keep her portrait and his abrupt decision to place her in the Kurosaki library without the consent of the elders was considered a scandal.

Infinite rows of bookshelves filled with musty, worn-out old scrolls dedicated to the art of war and flawless weaponry that were kept under constant care by the servants were amongst the basic necessities that were considered indispensable in the grand Kurosaki household.

Since their ancestors' humble beginning as peasants or lesser warriors to their current position as the leading clan in Northern, Eastern and Western Seireitei, said items have been passed down as legacy, a living testament to how the Kurosaki men have dedicated their entire living existence for generations and generations into perfecting their ingenious art of war.

Spring came and winter passed, gradually the extensive collection began to accumulate into an enormous hoard of treasure that continued to be housed in the present day Kurosaki library.

It was even rumored that hidden battle techniques and war tactics that were lost since the beginning to time could be found within these scrolls. It was therefore, no mystery as to why the Kurosaki library was considered by their descendants as a sacred place that must never be tainted in any form.

It was their pride and joy.

Placing a woman's portrait directly in the east where the Kurosaki clan itself derived from, was a blow to the Kurosaki elders' ego.

For years, the old, bearded Kurosaki elders pleaded their case.

Some used force with undisguised death threats; others had even humiliated themselves by publicly kowtowing to Isshin during the family meetings, pleading him to take away that hideous picture that tainted the presence of the Kurosaki ancestors.

Nothing swayed the judgment of the Kurosaki Isshin. The man had the will of the mountains and was as stubborn as an ox. He was even prepared to fight to the very bitter end or perish along with the elders just to keep the portrait of his beloved hanging within the household. He was adamant in keeping it.

To him, it was the last thing he had of his beloved; he needed it to remind himself that she once truly existed in his life and not simply a figment of his own imagination that he conjured. It was testament of his love for his wife; their love was beyond the boundaries of age-old traditions and silly superstitions.

_All his courageous acts of defiance were done in the name of love._

XXXX

As the eldest and only son of both Kurosaki Isshin and Kurosaki Masaki, Ichigo never doubted the reason behind his otou-san's decision to hang the picture.

Kurosaki men boasted both of their prowess in battles and their stubbornness in admitting defeat. It was a deadly combination in the grounds of life and death. However, it was another matter entirely in everyday life.

For months since Isshin's sudden abdication and his own ascension as the new head of the family, the Kurosaki elders had flooded him with an unlimited supply of pleas to remove the painting. With a recently installed clan leader, the elders had either underestimated Ichigo's stubbornness or were simply too busy in keeping up with their own Kurosaki trait. It was annoying to say the least. Every time he came back from a short break, there would be piles of letters concerning the said matter stacked up neatly on his worktable.

Like his father, he never placed his consent on the matter. He imagined that the elders to be pretty angry, but it didn't bother him- _for now_. Should however any of the foolish elder utter so much as a death threat behind his back, Kurosaki Ichigo would not hesitate to strike back and execute said elder publicly. There was after all a limit to his patience and he pitied the idiotic fool who would dare to openly challenge him and test his limit. After all, all of those who opposed him are obstacles, like sprouting weeds in a flower bed; they too must be weeded out before they become powerful enough to pose as a threat to his rule.

_Those who defy me shall suffer a fate worse than death itself; but those who join me shall have a limitless future. _That was the principle held and honoured by Kurosaki Ichigo.

XXXX

The flickering flame of a single candle lit on a dying candle illuminated his surroundings. Outside the chilly December winter frost howled on threatening to kill the dying flame, but still it lit on. Droplets of wax dripped, sliding down the candle stump before going to the base of the candle holder.

With the waning light, it was still possible for mortal eyes to make out the shape of several bottles of drained sake sprawled carelessly over the table. Leaning heavily on his elbows, Ichigo calmly took another sake bottle from the table. His face impassive and emotionless, it was only judging by the amount of empty bottles would you believe that this was the man who single-handedly drowned down all the sake.

Kurosaki Ichigo was undeniably an expert at handling sake. It would however make sense since he had been practicing and perfecting the art ever since his kaa-chan died. His reason for drinking was universal with all the other heavy drinkers in the world.

_To rid themselves of the unexplained turmoil waging inside of them. _

He himself drank to forget, to numb the guilt, to change the inward pain into some other form of pain that could be presented to him in the physical world. Be it a terrible hangover the day after tomorrow, or the painful wounds littered on his body after a long sparring; despite the pain and scars, he could always find himself repeating the same actions over and over again.

Uryu called him a hopeless fool intent on living in the past.

He never paid heed and chose to simply shrug the comment off. In his personal opinion, no one had the right to criticize him, to judge him, no one.

Not even the crazy old goat chin, because no one understood his pain and grief; his sorrow and guilt.

No one had a single inkling as to how it felt to be Kurosaki Ichigo.

Bringing the bottle close to his ears, he absentmindedly shook the bottle. An intoxicated smirk crept its way onto his lips when he heard the satisfying sound of liquid chugging in the bottle. Without hesitation, he unscrewed the lid intent on filling his hollow form with more alcohol.

Lazily, he raised the bottle in his fist towards the portrait of the smiling portrait of the auburn haired lady hung high on the lavender-coloured wall.

"This is for you, kaa-chan," he mumbled as he brought the bottle up to eye-level, as if he was giving a mock salute to his mother.

Smirking, he brought it to his lips before downing a good gulp of the fiery liquid. Once again, he found himself sitting in his usual haunt, drinking or rather devouring sake while staring at his mother's portrait.

There was so much he wanted to tell her, but instead of flesh and blood, she was simply substituted with paper and ink. Paper and ink did nothing to justify her beauty, kindness, wisdom and passion.

He chuckled bitterly, running his left hand through his mane of tousled orange hair before using his right hand to swipe away the remaining empty sake bottles that lay stationary on top of the table.

The porcelain bottles broke with a loud clang as their fragile bodies came in contact with the hard floor. Ichigo didn't even wince from the sound. His mind was already too far gone to pay attention to such trivial things like broken glassware.

His kaa-chan would have been appalled to see her then innocent and naive son become the cold-blooded murderer he is today. In a way, he was thankful for him being the one ending her life, at least that way she wouldn't have to suffer and witness her son's ultimate transformation into a heartless monster who wagered own human lives.

He was no longer the carefree boy who spent his childhood chasing dragonflies and butterflies with his kaa-chan, no longer the scared child who hid behind his mother every time he became afraid.

That child had already gone and replaced itself with the emotionless murderer standing with his straight posture and black katana held firmly within grasp; the notorious Ryoka of Seireitei who seated himself on the throne of the King through power and intimidation; the Shinigami. The only thing they both shared today was their name and memories.

Nothing else exists beyond that point. Ichigo was quite certain of that.

His mother loved the innocent, cheerful boy he was, not the conscienceless murderer he is now. He opened his mouth only to drown in more alcohol into his body. His father's advice echoed throughout his vacant mind as how a scream of pure terror haunted the lonely nights.

_It's not your fault, Ichigo. You should be proud and thankful; the only woman I ever loved sacrificed herself to save yours. Masaki was a mother through and through. She wouldn't have wanted it any other way. It was her fate._

XXXX

He snorted. It didn't change anything. He was still the insolent son who killed his own kaa-chan, the one who stole the sole existence of happiness in his family. He deserved nothing less than hate, fear and contempt from mortals alike for spilling her blood.

He groaned when he realized that the bottle was once again emptied, worsened when realization dawned upon him that it was his last bottle. He huffed in annoyance. The nearest hoard of sake was located in the grand hall, where his wedding banquet was currently taking place. Going there to take more sake, would simply lead him to meet up with all his visitors, which was the reason why he locked himself in the library.

He was required to have a certain degree of patience, wit and etiquette when dealing with his annoying bunch of guests. He was in no mood to socialize. With that said, not even Uryu can change his mind now.

He briefly thought of calling it a night and retreat to his personal studies. Even though the study room was cold and lacked a good bed, there was at least still a comfortable armchair present. That was slightly better than the wooden chair he was sitting on.

He was quite content with the idea of himself having some privacy. With his _bride_ currently occupying his bedroom, the bedroom could no longer serve the purpose now. He sighed. Looks like he had better get used to sleep in his studies.

Slowly easing his frozen limbs to stand up, he lazily stretched and gave out a sleepy yawn. The idea of a soft armchair with heavy fur blankets by the warm cackling fire had never been more appealing.

XXXX

"My, my is it just me or did Kurosaki-san purposely decided to skip his own wedding banquet? Imagine his otou-san's sad face when he found out that his only son was too shy to be present during his own wedding banquet. Oh, my dear friend, Isshin what past sins has he committed to deserve this ungrateful son in his life? How long must he wait before he could finally hear the footsteps of tiny Kurosakis wandering around the family compound?" drawled a lazy voice behind him ending with a highly exaggerated sigh at the end of his lament.

Ichigo's blood ran cold and visibly stiffened as his hands itched towards his black katana which was usually strapped around his waist. He mentally let out a string of curses when he felt nothing but cold air. He must have left it in his study room. He scowled.

"Getaboshi," he growled. Great he couldn't even skip his wedding banquet in peace, someone or rather a certain 'merely honest, handsome and perverted businessman' who could always show up in the time when their presence was not needed just to annoy the hell out of you, just had to make a surprise visit and throw his other plans for the night out of the nearest window.

Urahara Kisuke's ten year absence was definitely not missed by Ichigo.

Ichigo gritted his teeth before turning around to face Urahara. The infamous scowl firmly in place, he prayed to every entity there is that he was simply hearing things or merely suffering from the after-effects of alcohol consummation.

No such lucks.

It only took him one look to take in Urahara's messy blond hair, his horrendously stripped bucket hat, his dark green pants with matching dark green shirt and a dark greyish-green coat, his walking cane and his notorious wooden sandals, to confirm Ichigo's worst fear.

Urahara Kisuke was back in his life, and whenever that happened, it meant that something drastic is going to happen because whenever Urahara decided to make a surprise appearance in his life, Ichigo would always get the worst out of all the troubles Urahara dragged along during his short visits.

Ichigo sighed. This time would be no exception.

Wearingly massaging his throbbing temple, he could almost swore he saw Urahara was smirking underneath his hat. He tried reining his annoyance but to no avail. His patience was running thin, but he still managed to grit out the next few sentences without choking in anger and annoyance.

"What do you want, getaboshi?" he asked his voice loud but controlled with a tone of weariness that was simply too old for a person his age.

Urahara took note of it but did not push the matter any further. Ichigo was growing too old for him to lecture any more, even if he were to give out such advices; he sincerely doubted that the boy would listen.

The boy was hell-bent on punishing himself on the sins that he didn't commit. Sometimes he wondered what drove the poor boy to want to prove that he was guilty of murdering his own kaa-chan so badly.

"Now, now, Kurosaki-san. Is that how you greet your tutor and mentor? To think that I wasted my entire lifetime into teaching you and this is all the payment I get. So cruel," he said in mock hurt while dabbing his fake tears dramatically with a handkerchief he seemed to have pulled out from thin air.

Ichigo didn't know whether to be disgusted or amused by his antics and mentally resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Really he should have been more realistic when he thought that ten years of absence was going to make Urahara Kisuke a changed man.

"If you call training me for ten days a lifetime then that would have undoubtedly qualified you as my mentor," Ichigo snorted.

"Touché," said Urahara, who hoisted the wooden cane upwards to prod at the broken porcelain fragments littered on the floor with their edges sharp enough to draw blood. "I see you're still the same hopeless drunkard you were ten years ago," commented Urahara with his slight frown overshadowed by his hat.

"I see you're still the meddling fool who likes to stick his nose into other people's business. I guess nothing really changed," shot back Ichigo, flustered that Urahara would use the degrading term of 'drunkard' to describe him. Despite his shortcomings, Ichigo still considered and held Urahara as a mentor or at least acquaintance at some point in his life. He thought that Urahara knew him better than to call him names.

"No, Kurosaki-san. A lot of things have changed since my departure. Very drastically too, I might add. For starters, you've become smarter," he rambled on while taking a seat on the wooden chair in front of Ichigo.

Ichigo raised a suspicious eyebrow. Just where did Urahara intend to take the conversation? Taking Ichigo's silence as a sign to continue, he rambled on adding in outrageous hand gestures as he proceeded with his conversation, "Who knew the Kuchikis would try to create a scene at the wedding? Imagine the terrible horror I saw when I noticed that Kuchiki-san, excuse me, I meant _Kurosaki-san's_ white wedding kimono. It was as if she was attending a funeral. I could almost hear the scandalous rumours that would be spreading around Seireitei for years to come. _Kuchiki strikes a blow with funeral kimono._ What a devastating blow to Kurosaki pride! But then, the miracle of the century, the intended groom suddenly changed into a midnight black robe. What a turn of events! Spectacular! Astound-"

Suffering from earache caused by the annoying shrieking of Urahara while he was rambling on, Ichigo was quick to put an end to his torture by aiming a hard fist towards Urahara's face. To his disappointment, the fist simply fitted right into Urahara's outstretched palm. A flicker of annoyance could be seen in Urahara's pale blue orbs but it was gone as soon as it appeared.

"No need to get physically violent, Kurosaki-san. All I wanted to do was to ask how you knew beforehand that the Kuchikis would send their demure princess in a white funeral kimono," said Urahara in a calm voice as he loosened his grip on Ichigo's fist.

Ichigo glared daggers at his source of annoyance. Almost willing to surrender his last shred of control and pummel the poor man into a pulp of unrecognizable lump on the floor, it would have been so satisfying to hear the bones of said man crushing. Yet, he held on to his anger and chose to continue the conversation; curiosity getting the better of him as he found himself wondering once again where Urahara intended on taking their talk.

"I'm surprised that you didn't know the answer to your question. I thought you were aware that the Ishidas were still remaining under the Kurosaki clan's servitude," he answered with his gaze focused solely on the pale blue orbs of the man sitting opposite him.

"I see. So was it Ishida-san's orders to poison and slaughter the four thousand villagers of Kochochi during the siege of Western Seireitei!" Urahara practically shouted. All hints of his previous cheerfulness and jovialness gone, the look he was giving Ichigo now was a look of hatred. If looks could kill, Ichigo was fairly sure he would be six feet under by now. He was slightly taken aback by the sudden change in tones but stood his ground. He steeled his face into showing no emotions. Giving your audience the satisfaction of seeing you surprised was not very becoming for the future ruler of a united Seireitei.

Inwardly, he frowned. The gears in his mind started turning. Was that why Urahara wanted to talk to him? To question him on the events that had transpired during the siege? Somehow he had a feeling it wasn't just that.

Sighing, Ichigo ran a hand through his orange mane before reply in the coldest tone he could muster. "It wasn't my decision to make, Urahara-san. I didn't issue the command. Ishida and I were still in Karakura when that happened. "

"Then, tell me who in the world has the power to order your men while you're away if you didn't place the responsibility of commanding the army on him!" came Urahara's biting remark with rage visible through his pale blue orbs.

"Jourin Shiaka took charge in coordinating the war movements in an act of emergency. General Toshu had fallen during the first siege. It was protocol. I was unaware of Toshu's death until the messenger came bringing the news of poisoning. You of all people should know of my immense dislike of cowardice. I would never resort to poison," answered Ichigo.

Urahara chuckled bitterly. "Is that so? How do I know that your words are true, Kurosaki-san? Things change overtime, people change overtime and ten years is a long time," came the cold and distant reply from the other occupant of the otherwise empty room.

Ichigo lifted his gaze and focused it directly into Urahara's pale blue orbs, willing him to see the honesty, the truth and the genuine remorse he felt for the villagers. "You just have to trust me then, getaboshi," he answered firmly.

Snorting in amusement, Urahara gradually regained his previous jovialness as the hard glint in his eyes softened. He tore his eyes away from Ichigo's but not before throwing a glance past his shoulders towards the smiling portrait of Masaki.

"You are such a hard person to understand, Kurosaki-san. I pity your wife," said Urahara in a somewhat dejected manner. "To say that you are innocent is highly unlikely, and yet you display such truth and honour for a murderer. What exactly are you Kurosaki Ichigo?"

_I ask myself the same question every day._

"What is the true purpose of your visit, getaboshi? You were never the kind to drop by for a casual visit," inquired Ichigo.

"Such distrust and doubt you place upon me, Kurosaki-san. Couldn't I just visit you and your family for the simple reason for missing your presence? Ten years is, after all a rather long time. Maybe I've changed during the past decade," countered Urahara in an amused tone.

Ichigo smirked. The beaming moonlight passing through the open window streamed in accenting his brazen arrogance as he answered with surprising ease. "Knowing you, getaboshi. I'll say change just might be the only impossibility for you."

"Very well then, Kurosaki-san. I see you're still as impatient as you were, as always straight to the point. Now without further ado, allow me to show you the light. Have you ever wondered why Toshu had fallen so easily, almost surreally during the first siege?" asked Urahara in a highly amused tone, as if he was flaunting some hidden information that was only to him and shrouded from the rest of the world.

Ichigo kept silent, recalling the terrible news report that was brought forth fresh from the battlefield two months ago. He drew in a sharp sigh and wearingly shut his eyes; it was as if in that split second he himself was transported onto the battlefield, feeling the pain and adrenaline of his generals and soldiers.

Every shout and scream of terror was amplified in his ears; every tear of flesh was felt and cursed.

He remembered every single detail recorded within the reports and recited the outcomes that were still fresh in his mind.

"The report stated that the entire battalion was massacred by means of poison. Though it remained unclear the culprit behind the misdeed, the action had spurred General Jourin into doing the same with the villagers of Kochochi.," quoted Ichigo, his honey amber orbs focused solely upon the red carpet he stood on.

"False information, my dear Kurosaki-san," drawled Urahara lazily, his face hidden from view by his hat. His fathomless expression angered and annoyed Ichigo.

No man, not even Ishida Uryu had ever doubted his accounts of battle report.

He memorizes every single in-depth detail offered and contained. He could remember every tactic used, every general he commanded and this uncouth bastard that had suddenly deem it right to make a sudden appearance after a decade of absence doubted his words.

Urahara had no right in doing so. Ichigo dreamt of the day he could hack him into an unrecognizable pulp of bloody goo on the floor.

As if hearing his thoughts, Urahara gave a loud yawn and warily rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. "Kurosaki-san, killing me now will do you no good in uncovering the truth. Should I wait for your anger to simmer before I continue? Unlike someone I know, I happen to have a lot of time on my hands. In the meantime, feel free to run into your wife's bosom and sob about how the terrible Uncle Urahara had bullied you."

Ichigo scowled and mentally conjured up horrendous methods to kill the annoying man before him. He could picture himself stabbing the getaboshi with Zangetsu over and over again, a maniacal laughter on his lips as he watched the man beg and grovel for mercy.

"Tell me, Kurosaki-san. Don't you find it suspicious that Toshu's body was not carried back into Karakura in the usual military fashion? Why was he cremated before you, the so-called commander had the chance to place the wreath and medal upon him?"

Ichigo frowned as his eyebrows furrowed. What was Urahara implying? True, the manner of Toshu's funeral had been suspicious, but the siege lasted for half a year. The body could have decomposed and the healer's may have seen fit for the body to be carried forth without a stench reeking of decomposing corpse riding amongst them.

He opened his mouth to voice his thoughts but as in turn silenced by Urahara who had rose from his seat and started pacing in the dark room. The candle light waned on.

"While it is true that the body could have decomposed and was cremated to avoid the stench of dead bodies, think about how strange it was that the only battalion who suffered from poisoning would be Toshu's batch. I thought that all soldiers shared the same water source, it would hence forth only make sense of the entire army was also diagnosed with poison. So how exactly did the others knew beforehand? Sure, the healers could interfere and saved the soldiers' life. But why didn't they send in any documents regarding the water-poisoning? Protocol was and is always strictly followed, more so if it was in the midst of a waging game. Secondly, it goes against human nature to not want to take credit for some major outbreak of diseases that you prevented. It could be just me, but don't you find the matter highly suspicious?"

Ichigo scowled. His mind deep in thought, come to think of it, he was pretty sure Uryu mentioned something like that as well.

A deep growl rose from his throat, he hated Urahara with a vengeance. Always disappearing and reappearing in his life to plant those ridiculous ideas of his in his mind, and worse of all Ichigo couldn't shake off the gut feeling that Urahara was once again right.

In the end, he realized that he couldn't even trust his own generals and men. A bitter chuckle erupted. In a way, he supposed he should be thankful of Urahara. It was foolish of him to place trust on his own men.

In the battlefield, it's every man for himself.

Trust and honour was a hard thing to come by. He learnt his lesson well.

"Judging from your tone, I suppose you already know the truth, Urahara-san. So please spare me the wait and just tell me how did Toshu and his men met their end." said Ichigo.

"War," answered Urahara nonchalantly. He stood near the window, basking in the aloof presence of the mocking crescent, feeling the cold winter air whipping harshly against his face but otherwise remaining impassive and expressionless.

XXXX

Colour rose to Ichigo's cheeks. The nerve of that perverted bastard. His wavering control on his anger snapped, as would hot scorching lava erupt from the molten volcano, anger erupted from Ichigo in a form of havoc and chaos.

"Don't give me your half-assed answers, getaboshi! Either you tell me, or I'll find the truth out from my own men by myself," bellowed Ichigo in a loud and threatening manner. Urahara remained expressionless, throwing an occasional glance at the moon ever so often but yet made no move to explain himself. Ichigo fumed.

Silence stretched between the two men.

One growling and silently demanding the intended answer from the others, while the other simply stood there offering silence and nothing else.

With a final breeze of the chilly winter night, the waning candle light finally gave way, as if it was signifying that the conversation between the two men have also came to a halt. Darkness and silence were then the only greetings of the room to its occupants.

Urahara sighed, breaking the dreaded silence. Leaping onto the thin window sill, he balanced himself accordingly. The cane in his arm now tucked inside his coat. His right hand gripped the window handle tightly. Moonlight danced upon his pale figure.

"I still haven't garnered enough evidence for support my theory, to make you believe my side of the story. I couldn't take the risk of awakening the sleeping foxes lying beneath the still grass. But I do know this much, Kurosaki-san. Toshu was captured alive and his men were all massacred. Neck wounds on all of them. Clean slash. No visible sign of struggle. Probably caught in an ambush. Stranger still, the Kuchikis seem to have no knowledge of such an incident. It's unsettling, even for me. There's another force at work. Cunning and at large. My only advice for you now is to wait. I'll be heading towards the mountains tomorrow. If I'm not back by next week, you'll receive a letter from Tessai. You must do as the letter states. Oh and Kurosaki-san, I would suggest you keep an eye on your dear wife. She seemed to be the only connection and thread I have uncovered."

Ichigo narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean? How can a girl be connected into all of this! Answer me, getaboshi!"

"Too late, Kurosaki-san. Perhaps another time, maybe then a lot of things would have surfaced and seem clearer to the eyes. Take care," said Urahara jovially. Spreading both of his arms outwards, he drew a sharp breath before leaping downwards, exiting through the same entrance he came in.

Ichigo sprinted towards the window. Disappointment evident in his honey amber orbs upon discovering that Urahara had once again disappeared from sight right under his nose.

That man was truly a strange fellow. Ichigo snorted. Peace wasn't really an option nowadays.

He sighed, rubbing his neck. Urahara's echoing words rang on in his mind. The gut instinct of his remained unsatisfied. Something was amissed, but what?

He frowned. Why was his life destined to be plagued by mysteries? Deciding that his only option now was to lie in wait, he marched towards the exit.

His right hand grabbed hold of the door knob and felt the chilling coolness radiating from the metal beneath his fingertips. He turned the polished knob.

The door swung open. Scarcely had he place one foot outside the library, Ichigo's wandering orbs have already landed onto the figure of a nervous Ishida Uryu still clad in his evening kimono plastered with hues of blue and silver, murmuring comforting words into the ears of his tear-stricken wife.

Ichigo's frown deepened as he noticed that his cousin's usual cheerful grey orbs were rimmed with tears, her expression dire and panic, with her lip quivering. Her silky crimson kimono was crumpled and he spotted several tears and red stains ruining the attire. She seemed to be shivering in fear.

Not trusting in his cousin's ability to speak, he turned his attention towards his second-in-command. His glare and frown firmly in place, demanding to know what had happened to his cousin. Uryu ignored his commander.

He simply allowed his depressed wife to take refuge within his warm embrace, as if he was shielding her from the terrors of the world. She rested her head on the crook of his neck, the stray tears staining her husband's kimono.

Only when her wails of despair have fallen silent, did Uryu answered Ichigo's question.

"Kuchiki-san has been kidnapped."

* * *

_While Ichigo was drinking in the library… _

Ishida-Inoue Orihime looked upon the petite bride with undisguised admiration and adoration. She envied how the sheer, flimsy night gown fitted snugly around Kuchiki Rukia's slim figure. Every curve was outlined elegantly, as with the gown that ended abruptly above her knees. It made her look elegant and refined, without inspiring lust. Well, not that much anyways.

Then, her gaze travelled upwards. She looked past Rukia's creamy thighs, her delicate chest, past her shoulders until they finally landed upon her porcelain-like face with hints of childlike innocence still present. Her smooth alabaster skin complimented her ebony midnight locks perfectly. Her small lips that were painted crimson red curved into a shy smile that could enchant even the wildest of beasts. But most of all, Orihime adored Kuchiki-san's wide, expressive eyes.

Try as she may, she couldn't describe the colours of her eyes. Indigo was a shade to dark, cerulean and azure seemed to a shade to light. In the end, Orihime came to the conclusion that Kuchiki-san's eyes were different from reflecting the swirling emotions within herself and the lighting of the room. They were unique.

There was no doubt about it. A beamish smile surfaced upon Orihime's lips, mirroring the shy smile on the young bride. Kurosaki Ichigo was a lucky man to have such a lovely bride.

"I hope you don't find my presence disturbing, Kuchiki-san," Orihime began.

"No that's fine. I find your presence comforting, Orihime-san. And please, Rukia-san is fine. After all, as of tonight, I would no longer be a Kuchiki now, would I?" asked Rukia rhetorically. Her serene smile still plastered upon those lips. Orihime beamed.

"You are a very beautiful bride, Rukia-san. My cousin is a lucky man to have you as his wife. Both of you seemed so perfect together. I'm sure your children will be as adorable as you are. Maybe our children can be playmates," said Orihime enthusiastically as she bounced up and down around the room in rejoice.

Rukia nodded, a small blush crept its way onto her pale cheeks. She was just about to open her mouth and join the conversation when a loud crash was heard.

XXXX

Shards of window glass flew and landed carelessly, some on her kimono, others on her bare skin, drawing blood. Orihime screamed.

She whirled around, only to see the figure of a large, almost giant-like man standing before her. His face was marred; streaks of tear-like scars, raw and jagged ran down on both side of his cheek. When he grinned, one could see the dirty-looking, yellow dentures that doubled as his teeth before smelling the pungent and acrid smell of cheap sake. Heavy armour shielded his chest and shoulders; along his waist was a simple wakizashi, its hilt a shade of dark red made from ox hide. A small, carefully crafted jade ornament was hung loosely along the hilt, looking strangely out of place with his rude master.

Without another word, Rukia sprinted towards her sword, grabbing hold of its hilt.

She carefully made her way across the room, standing and protecting the weaponless woman. She pulled out her white sword from her sheath, before dropping the sheath onto the ground with a loud clang. With both hands gripping the hilt, she eased herself effortlessly into a defensive stance.

Behind her, Orihime could already feel the stray tears that were falling like raindrops down her cheek. She was scared. Her knees buckled and her entire body threatened to gave way, to collapse into an unconscious heap onto the floor.

"Orihime, run!"

XXXX

Hearing Rukia's voice, Orihime's vacant eyes that were previously glassy with fear snapped open. With her newfound strength, and adrenaline pumping inside of her, she ran without hesitation, sprinting out of the exit without turning back. She urged herself to go faster.

To hurry and leave this place of violence, she could still hear the blows exchanged between Rukia-san and that man. She wondered if Rukia-san was wounded. Would she be injured? Worst, will she be raped? She sank down onto her knees in shame and disgust, how could she abandon Rukia-san like that?

Rukia-san protected her, while she did nothing and simply bolted out the exit. She clutched her head, trying to block out those terrible images.

_ Please stop it._

XXXX

"Hime-chan," came a soothing baritone voice behind her. She whirled around to see her husband. A look of concern plastered onto his face. Flustered, she swiped away the stray tears with the back of her palm. No more, she told herself. She wasn't going to run. This time, she was going to be strong and hold the tears at bay. She owed that much to Rukia-san.

"Uryu-kun, come with me. Someone broke into the room and attacked us. Rukia-san wanted to protect me, she-she told me to run. We have to go," said Orihime who immediately started running back into the room. Resolve and determination plainly seen within her serious grey orbs. Her husband followed suit.

Pushing the door open, Orihime was shocked to find the room in shambles. Several night stands and paper lay amidst the wreckage. Chairs were toppled over with their soft cushion shredded. Linings of fur and strips of clothes were found.

Droplets of crimson blood were found on the floor. She felt sick. Salty droplets of tear poured out from her eyes as her weak knees sank onto the ground. The presence of a comforting hand on her shoulder made her bawled even louder. She threw herself onto her husband's awaiting shoulder. Sobbing and burrowing herself deeper within the embrace, she held onto him for dear life.

Uryu placed a gentle hand onto his wife's back, soothing her cries and murmured sweet nonsensical things into her ears. From the corner of his eye however, he spotted a small round like object lying on the ground. It looked smooth and green-in-colour.

Was it a piece of jade?

Placing a reassuring palm onto his wife's back, he reached for the object. What he saw next, rendered him speechless. In his palm, was an ornamental jade, smooth to the touch, inscribed upon it was the characters of bravery and the detailed image of a battle boar.

The very same jade was presented to newly instated General Jourin Shiaka less than a month ago by the one and only Kurosaki Ichigo.

He saw the saw jade earlier in the evening. He remembered that said man had been carrying his precious wakizashi all night long, boasting to anyone who will listen, about his magnificent victory and practically shoved the jade towards every guest present.

He rubbed his temples.

Ichigo was not being to be pleased to hear that one of his generals just kidnapped his wife.

* * *

_The summer heat was unbearable inside the stuffy room. She felt drowsy, even more so as she listened to the annoyingly slow drawl of her tutor. It was torture. She struggled to keep her eyes opened. Her tutor drawled on about the importance of being a respectable lady when she grew up, but she wasn't paying any attention. She yawned loudly, upsetting the tutor._

_ "Kuchiki Rukia, you are a respectable member of the Kuchiki clan. I expect you to behave like a noblewoman. Respectable women, noblewomen never yawned, no matter how terribly boring the found the situation."_

_ "Then, you do admit that your classes are boring, Usehi-sensei," came a new-comer's voice, surprising both occupants within the room. She beamed. Her previous frowning lips curved to form a genuine smile as her gaze fell on the new comer. _

_ "Class is adjourned as of now, Usehi-sensei," declared Kaien jubilantly, the authoritative tone he used betraying his identity of the next Kuchiki heir._

_ "As you wish, Kaien-sama," answered the tutor submissively, shuffling for the exit._

_ "Kaien-dono," she exclaimed in happiness as her sapphire-like orbs shone with jeweled like brilliance. She threw herself onto the raven-haired teen, toppling him as both of them fell onto the ground. He gave a loud groan of pain as his back connected with the hard wooden flooring. She giggled happily._

_ "Hey, is that any way to treat your savior," pouted Kaien who had eased into a sitting position on the floor._

_ Rukia huffed. Bundling her little fist and playfully punched her brother, she giggled again as she saw him cradling his wound in mock hurt._

_ "Baka, Kaien-dono. You're the one who got me into this mess, I told you we shouldn't have gone to the stables." she complained in a childish manner._

_ "Still, it was fun. Did you see the look on the old hag's face when she thought that there were ghosts inside the stable?"He countered, his tone carefree and jovial._

_ "Still, it's no fair that you got away scot free, while I was punished to endure these terrible etiquette lessons with Usehi-sensei," she pouted._

_ Kaien sighed. "There are a lot of things in this world that are not fair, Rukia. You can't change that, you never could," he answered seriously, the wisdom contained in his words sounded too old and weary for a child his age._

_ Rukia simply stared at the retreating figure of her brother. Watching the dream-like figure became hazy and blurry, listening as the words echoed silently before fading into nothingness. It was time to wake up._

* * *

She woke up to find herself strapped onto a chair. She winced at the pain. Her captor must have knocked her unconscious before dragging her into this place.

_Where am I?_

The sight of a dark room greeted her. The windows were sealed shut but she could still hear the chilly December air howling against the window. Unsurprisingly, both her hands were tied behind her back. She struggled against the tight bonds around her wrists. She cursed when she found the bonds biting into her flesh. Too tight for her to break free.

She squinted her eyes in the dark to focus her gaze on the various objects lying in the dark. She saw broken pottery littered carelessly around her.

The faint glow of moonlight outlined the sturdy frame of the door, but it was too far for her to reach it. Even though her legs were unbound, it was pointless for her to run. She could barely make out the shards of the broken porcelain, but she didn't need to feel their sharp edges on her skin to know that they could draw blood.

She cursed her luck. Why couldn't things have gone smoothly on her wedding night?

Conversing with Ishida Orihime had been a start, well it had, until her brutish captor appeared out of nowhere and started breaking the window glass, knocking over the tables and kidnapping her. She could only pray that her stupid would-be saviours spotted the jade ornament in time to save her.

_Save her._

XXXX

The word tasted oddly bitter in her mouth as she pronounced each syllable.

She hated that word with a vengeance.

She didn't want to be saved.

She couldn't afford to be saved.

She was independent and resourceful; she would do no less on her own.

It was dangerous being the one rescued, because you would learn to rely too much on your saviours, placing too much false hope on them, thinking that they would always appear in your moment of need. It was foolish to think that they'll always be by your side.

Watching you, comforting you, just like a guardian angel. Kaien-dono was like that once, he was her personal guardian angel, the one who made summer a lot more bearable by issuing petty challenges to her, challenges she would win, the one who spoke on her behalf when the elders belittled her, the one who encouraged her when she didn't meet up to her tutor's expectations.

But then, that was a long time ago. Unneeded memories that have long been suppressed came to mind.

"You look far too calm for a damsel in distress," came the unnerving voice behind her.

She froze. Her mind was in scrambles, but she knew she needed to remain calm, to have a clear mind on her shoulders. So, she played the part of the stolid block of ice without batting an eyelash. She was going to play her part well. No one will ever have the satisfaction of seeing her insecurities again.

"What do you want?" she enquired, a mask of cool indifference sliding between her captor and her face.

She mentally congratulated herself when she heard the short pause of her captor in answering her question. He hesitated. Her smirk of victory went unnoticed in the unlit room.

"Come now, good sir. Surely you didn't carry me around just because you felt like it," said Rukia. Easing herself onto a more comfortable position on the hard chair, she continued in her usual tone of nonchalance, "Did you lose a bet?"

No answer. Her eyebrows furrowed. "No, maybe not. You don't seem like the kind to lose any bet," she added, hoping to get some reaction from her silent captor that was standing behind her.

He gave a snort of amusement but then he kept silent.

"I know you didn't kidnap me for revenge. Did someone order you to kidnap me?"

He drew in a sharp breath. She took it a sign to continue. "Funny really, I never really pegged you as the obedient lap dog type. I supposed you'll go off to find your master as soon as he blows the whistle. How obedient you are, I really wouldn't mind having you as a lap dog," she taunted.

The crack of knuckles behind her, warned her of their owner's animosity and anger. If she kept this up, she had no doubt her captor would break his hold on his anger. Weakling, she sneered. Men who couldn't keep their anger in check were truly weaklings; in the end they would always give up their secrets without a fight, without knowing that they gave up their secrets willingly. Pathetic really.

"Ah, can you hear it now, Doggy-chan? Your master is calling for you. I can see him waving a bone, no wait; it's a steak, fresh and juicy. He says that you've been a good dog," she smirked, feeling the sheer anger that was radiating from her captor.

"Cat got your tongue, Doggy-chan?"

He snapped. With a simple lift, she found herself a few feet off the ground, face to face with the angry man. His eyes bloodshot and the smell of sake invaded her nostrils, making her nauseous. Maybe she had bitten more than she can chew, but she wasn't going to let him see her fear. She steeled herself, narrowing her eyes into dangerous slits- the ever so famous Kuchiki glare. She met the drunkard's glare head on, refusing to look away.

"Who ordered you to kidnap me? Answer me," she commanded, exuding the air of refined but authoritative Kuchiki nobility. The man though several times bigger than her, quivered beneath her powerful gaze.

A quick slash in front of her caught her attention.

She could simply watch in horror as the brute that was threatening her slowly crumple onto the floor.

She was thrown backwards, landing painfully against the hard floor. She looked up to see the gash directly behind man, oozing black crimson substances. She tasted the coopery taste of the liquid on her tongue and realized that she must have had blood splattered onto her face.

The man frothed blood, choking on his last breath that was ironically his own blood.

She simply stared, unable to do anything.

"Blind," the man gurgled in his dying breath.

But she didn't understand the cryptic message behind it. She was shocked and surprised. She had never pictured that the day of her witnessing death right before her very eyes, to be in this form.

The aftershock gave way to a numbing sensation of witnessing death before anger took hold.

Who in the world decided to kill her captor? She was already extracting precious information from the man, why did he place the finishing blow, right before she had the chance of knowing who ordered her kidnap? The nerve of that good for nothing piece of trash.

Swirling amethyst met molten amber. Each of them hating the other to the core of their being for getting into their respective way. A clash of wills broke out, as a battle of eye-glaring ensued. Both participants unwilling to announce their defeat, unwilling to let the other have the satisfaction of seeing them crumple.

With his molten amber still focused on the diminutive figure crumpled on the floor, Ichigo regarded his wife with a look of contempt and annoyance. "You owe me big time, for saving your ass right then, you got that! Midget!"

Rukia seethed. Midget? No one had the gall of calling her midget since the time she ducked her taunting cousin in the well. The gall of that man. She gritted her teeth, "I don't owe you anything husband dear. I didn't need your pathetic attempt of a rescue. I was doing fine."

His nostrils flared. Anger getting the better of him.

"You call being dangled half way up in the air 'doing fine'? Then, how exactly are you doing when he stabs you with his wakizashi!"

She scowled. She answered only to herself.

"Your concern for me is touching, my dear. Humbly receive my tears of thanks while I throw myself into your warm embrace for comfort," she shot back, not even bothering to disguise the venom of sarcasm.

_This means war._


End file.
